


Taking Orders (the mirrorverse remix)

by isabeau



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: M/M, Mirrorverse, Remix, Remix Redux
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-12
Updated: 2015-06-12
Packaged: 2018-04-04 03:29:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,548
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4124073
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/isabeau/pseuds/isabeau
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everyone knows that Bones is Kirk's boy.   Everyone's wrong: Bones doesn't belong to Jim.  Jim belongs to Bones.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Taking Orders (the mirrorverse remix)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lunabee34 (Lorraine)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lorraine/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Chain of Command](https://archiveofourown.org/works/833719) by [lunabee34 (Lorraine)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lorraine/pseuds/lunabee34). 



> Takes place in the Mirrorverse of AOS, which doesn't canonically exist but eh whatever. The (AOS) Mirrorverse I play in tends to be bdsm-ish as a rule, although this is fairly tame compared to some things.

"It's just a scratch," Jim says. He sounds aggrieved, like Bones is the one making a fuss over nothing. 

"Pants _off_ ," Bones repeats sharply. "Now."

There's barely a mark on his skin. (On his leg, at least. There is a flush blooming over his face that neither of them acknowledges.)

Bones reminds him in great detail about a particularly impressive sort of Acamarian flesh-eating bacteria that can start with just a scratch, and presses the skin sealant a little too hard against the injury site. It's not clear which of these is the cause of Jim's wince. Bones smirks, leans in, and whispers a time into Jim's ear. 

Jim nods and hops off the table. "Oh, and Bones," he adds, like an afterthought. "2100, my quarters"

"Yes, sir," Bones says, and neither one of them comments that the sir comes out a little on the sarcastic side. 

\--

Everyone knows that Bones is Kirk's boy. Kirk had been Pike's, not too long ago, but Pike is dead and Jim's Captain now, and as Captain he gets his choice of anyone on the ship. 

It's sort of traditional for Captains to take their first officer, but Spock is a goddamn Vulcan and no one is surprised that a human would want a human. Chief medical officer isn't a bad choice. 

So: yeah. Everyone knows. 

Everyone's wrong. 

Bones doesn't belong to Jim. Jim belongs to Bones. 

\--

Bones is late. It would be insubordination if Jim wanted it to be. But Jim's been waiting with the patience he learned under Pike. The look he gives when Bones enters is one of hopeful and faintly embarrassed arousal, not of reprimand. 

He's waiting for instructions. Bones lets him wait. He won't die of it.

"Oh, come _on_. You're killing me here."

...even if he says otherwise. Bones hides his grin in a scowl. "Shut up."

Outside this room, no one -- except maybe Spock, if he were angry enough -- would dare say that to a ship's Captain. Inside this room, in this space and this context, Jim's not Captain. He's not in charge.

He doesn't want to be in charge.

And Bones, well. Bones _likes_ seeing Jim like this. Not the cocky, confident Captain that the rest of the galaxy sees, but young, almost vulnerable, and willing to take orders. No, not just willing: needing.

"Pants off," Bones says, not for the first time that day but for an entirely different reason.

Jim complies, but slowly, teasingly, peeling his pants off with far more wiggling and gyrating than is necessary. Bones itches to help him, to just yank at fabric until he can get at the skin underneath, but he deliberately clasps his hands behind his back and watches with narrowed eyes and a disapproving frown.

"I don't have all night," he finally growls. "Shirt next."

Jim grins like he's won, and finishes stripping. Naked, he looks even more vulnerable, but his eyes are bright and the flush is back and his erection bobs dark and hungry.

"Kneel," Bones says.

Jim drops to his knees in a fluid movement -- the benefits of being young, Bones thinks, with a flicker of wistfulness for a time when he didn't have to think about the state of his own knees. Bones uses one foot to nudge Jim's knees farther apart, and then stands for a while, regarding him.

Jim waits. Bones lets him.

"James T Kirk," he says finally in a quiet drawl. "Federation's finest. Care to put your skills to use?"

"Yes please," Jim says promptly. He then looks up through his lashes, almost coyly, and adds, "--sir."

"Very well," Bones says, and his voice sounds rough even to himself. "Suck my cock. No hands."

No hands means that Jim doesn't get to touch himself either. There's a flash of something close to rebellion in Jim's eyes before he nods, leans forward, and breathes warm air over Bones' still-clothed groin before nuzzling catlike against one thigh.

It feels good, but Bones asked for more. He says in a low, dangerous voice, "You call that sucking?"

"Sir no sir," Jim says, looking up with an expression of pure innocence. "I'm not sure I know what you want, sir."

"Goddamn smartass," Bones growls, and pulls Jim to his feet and in for a kiss. There's nothing gentle about it, all primal possession and marking of territory. Bones bites Jim's lip as he pulls away, and then moves to his neck, sucking hard and then biting down. Jim tips his head back and to the side, panting hard.

There will be marks later, Bones thinks with satisfaction.

"Kneel," he says again, "and _suck my goddamn cock_ ," and Jim drops with a thud that has no finesse whatsoever. He gets Bones' pants open with his teeth and then -- finally, fucking _finally_ \-- gets Bones' cock into his mouth, sucking and licking and using just the right amount of scrape of teeth.

It feels good, _too_ good, and he's not young any more. Bones steps back. Jim leans into the motion, following him, but then Bones' cock slides out of Jim's mouth with a wet popping noise, and Jim's closed eyes flutter back open.

"Jerk yourself off," Bones orders. "All the way. And catch it."

This, too, Jim makes a show of: one hand around his own cock, one going to his nipples to pinch and tug, his whole body arching in response. Head tipped back, eyes dark and unfocused, mouth sometimes chewing on the already kiss-reddened lower lip and sometimes open to let his breath chuff out hard and fast -- he is a thing of beauty, and Bones could watch him forever.

But it doesn't last forever. Jim's hand stutters in its rhythm on his cock, his other hand cups around the tip, and then he comes with a strangled half-stifled cry, shooting into his fist. He manages to capture most of the mess, but some of the jizz leaks through his fingers and drips in splatters on his legs.

Bones waits until Jim's breathing has slowed and his eyes flutter open before he says, "Prep yourself."

Jim uses the collected spunk to lube up his fingers before twisting himself around and working at his ass. One finger in, two, three; it's as much a visual show for Bones' benefit as it is for preparation.

Even as he's doing this, Bones takes Jim's free hand and sucks the remains of the come off of each finger. Jim squirms and flushes harder.

"Bed," Bones says, in a gravelly whisper that doesn't even sound like his own voice. "Face down."

There's no teasing this time, no lingering, not even the hing of a saunter as Jim goes to the bed. Elbows and knees, forehead against his crossed wrists, ass towards Bones all come-slick and ready for the taking.

He's goddamn fucking _gorgeous_.

"Come on, _fuck me_ ," Jim practically begs.

Bones raises one eyebrow at him. "Did you forget," he says mildly, "who's giving the orders around here?"

"Sir no sir," Jim says, but -- being Jim, and therefore a smartmouthed pain-in-the-ass -- adds, "Did you forget who's doing the fucking around here?"

Bones whacks him on the ass, pleased at both the gasp he gets out of Jim and the pinkness that flushes up on the pale skin. He smacks the other side too for good measure, and then lines up his cock with Jim's asshole and slides in.

There's not enough lube to make it anywhere near smooth, but he puts his hands on Jim's hips with an unrelenting grip that will leave bruises by morning and uses that as leverage to thrust a little farther inside with each push forward, until he's sheathed balls-deep in Jim's ass and Jim is breathing in hoarse sobs of need beneath him.

"Fuck me," Jim gasps out, "dammit Bones I need--"

The rest of the sentence is lost in an inarticulate grunt as Bones pulls out and slams back in.

"You," Bones pants, trying to sound more calm and collected than he actually is, "need to learn how to take orders better."

The next words out of Jim's mouth might have been intended to be a "Yes, sir," except that by then Bones _is_ fucking him, hard and fast and merciless, and what comes out of his mouth is just a series of noises.

It feels like forever, and it feels like only a moment, before Bones is coming, shooting his seed deep into Jim, feeling like he's emptying all of himself. He barely manages not to collapse on top of the other man, instead flopping down onto the bed next to him and rolling Jim over against him.

Jim is compliant and relaxed, but his dick is hard again -- goddamn _kids_ , Bones thinks, amused -- and Bones jerks him lazily off. 

"I can't," Jim whispers, desperate, pained.

"Shhh," Bones says. "You're a good boy. Come for me."

It's an order, and Jim complies, burying his face against Bones' neck to muffle the wail. He stays there, shuddering with aftershocks but otherwise limp and unmoving.

Bones, after a while, grumbles, "And don't even _think_ about getting Acamarian flesh-eating bacteria. I'd miss this."

Jim's breath flutters in a soundless laugh. "Sir yes sir," he drawls. "And that's the only reason, I'm sure." 

"Shut _up_ ," Bones growls, and closes his eyes. 


End file.
